


tell my heart to lie

by sapphirestylan



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, M/M, Narry - Freeform, but i gave it a happy ish ending bc writing sad fics fucks me up too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphirestylan/pseuds/sapphirestylan
Summary: Dublin. Backstage.





	tell my heart to lie

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of getting too emotional about narry the night of the dublin concert and riding the wave of motivation as far as it carried me, which...wasn’t very far. This is ridiculously, horribly short, but I needed to get it out of my system, so. whatever. // TITLE FROM ‘HOMESICK’ BY DUA LIPA. //

He should not have come here. 

The room is too warm and his palms are too sweaty and he really, really should not have come. It’s not as if he wasn’t welcome. Harry had made that clear in the cryptic text he’d sent two days earlier that, if Niall’s still as well-versed in Harry-speak as he believes himself to be, meant he wanted him to come. So, like an idiot, he came.

But before he has the chance to walk out and sprint away from the venue as fast as his knobby little legs can carry him, the door swings open and Harry steps in. 

“Niall,” He says, sounding a little surprised. “You came.”  

Niall shrugs, fingers itching for a guitar to fidget with, but he has to settle with the hem of his shirt. Wait-  _ no, that looks like he’s nervous, and Harry can’t know he’s nervous. Because there’s no reason to be, right? Right. _

Harry shuts the door behind him softly, running a hand through his hair. It’s a little longer than the last Niall remembers, and it’s gorgeous. Just like everything else about him. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Harry admits, sinking down in one of the sofas. His shirt stretches tight over his shoulders, distractingly broad and defined.  _ Fuck,  _ he really needs to get this under control. 

“Me neither.” Niall mutters, dropping his gaze and staring down at his lap. “Don’t know why I did, if I’m being honest.” 

“Why?” 

Niall takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he launches himself headfirst into the storm. “I have something to say to you.” 

Harry visibly stiffens, his brow knitting together in a frown and his posture straightening like he’s bracing himself. “Go ahead.”

“When I was younger,” Niall begins unsteadily, breath hitching in his throat, “I used to think you were it for me. I used to look at you and think you were gonna be the one, in the end.” He smiles, but it’s bitter and melancholy and it’s not really a smile at all. “Wanted to grow old with you.” 

Harry blinks in shock, clearly taken aback by the sudden flurry of emotion in Niall’s words. “Niall, please stop, please don’t say stuff like that-”

“I never really accounted the for the fact that you might get tired of me. That you’d be the one leaving and breaking my heart, giving me hope and then snatching it away again.”

“Wait, that’s not- Niall, that’s-”

“I loved you, you know. If that- if that counts for anything.” 

“Loved?” Harry says sharply, voice wobbling a little. His eyes are wet. 

Niall finally looks up from the floor, swallowing heavily and steeling himself. He won’t submit this time, won’t let Harry’s tears guilt him into taking him back. “Yeah. Loved.”

“Bull _ shit _ ,” Harry says breathlessly, “That’s bullshit. You still love me.” Niall starts to shake his head, and Harry’s voice rises an octave, desperation dripping off every word. “You still love me, you don’t mean that, Niall, you  _ don’t- _ ”

“Who gives a fuck?” He snaps, cutting him off, and Harry is startled into silence. His ears heat up and his palms are sweating but he needs to get this out of his system. Needs Harry to understand. “Honestly, who gives a fuck? Yeah, maybe I am still in love with you. So what? It’s done shit-all to get you to stay with me, it’s never counted for fucking anything. Not in your world.”

“Niall-”

“Being in love with you doesn’t change a thing, Harry.” He seethes, half-relishing the wince Harry gives at his words. “I was in love with you two years ago too but you still left. So why does that change now?” He lets out a bitter laugh, ringing hollow in his own ears. “As if you would change a damn thing.”

“I  _ would _ try, Niall, I  _ am _ trying-”

“I- don’t- care,” Niall grits out. (He cares very much.) “I am sick and tired of waiting for you, Harry. I think it’s time I get the chance to be happy too.”

“What, with her?” 

Niall blinks, taking an involuntary step back. He hadn’t expected him to go there. 

“Are you happy with her?” Harry restates, his jaw set and his eyes hard- but his voice gives him away again. Always does. “As happy as you were with me?” 

Niall flicks his eyes away, his mouth suddenly dry as he blinks and struggles to say the words. Memories are flashing in his head, reminding him of every single reason, every excuse he ever used as to why he wasn’t moving on. 

“Yeah,” He lets out eventually, but the admission doesn’t lift the weight off his shoulders or the pressure on his chest. It makes it worse, the space between his ribs aching with want. With need, for something- someone- he doesn’t want to admit.  

“Then why the hell are you here, Niall?” Harry asks, his voice suddenly weak and too quiet in the stillness. He’s found the chink in his armor, the flaw in his argument. He’s right. If it were true, if his heart was where it’s supposed to be, he wouldn’t have come here. Would have ignored Harry, ignored the concert, ignored the Masters t-shirt he had tucked away in his bag instead of giving it to him. “If all you came to do was break my heart,” Harry starts, laughing wetly, eyes shining. 

It takes another minute before Niall is able to speak again. His chest is tight, the words feeling like thorns slicing up his flesh as they fall out of his mouth. “I can’t do it again, Harry,” He whispers, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I can’t do it again and have you leave like last time, I can’t  _ handle _ that a second time-” 

“You wouldn’t have to,” Harry says almost instantly, rising shakily to his feet and closing the distance between them in one step. Damn him and those long legs. Harry’s hands wrap around his, their fingers tangling together, and the action is so familiar it feels like someone’s closed a fist around his heart.

Niall tries to steady his breaths, the well-known intoxication of Harry being so close settling in his bones. “I promise, Niall, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m- I know my words mean nothing to you, but I’m so sorry,” Harry breathes, voice low. He smells like cinnamon, Niall notices, like he still uses those silly scented candles. There must be one somewhere in the dressing room right now, he’s willing to bet. “So sorry, for everything I’ve done to you, all the pain I caused.” Niall closes his eyes and listens to Harry’s voice wash over him. It feels like coming home.

“How do I know you mean it, Harry?” 

“You don’t,” Harry whispers, squeezing his hands once. Niall opens his eyes. “You just have to trust me.” 

“Trust you.” Niall echoes numbly, his skin on fire where Harry’s touching it. “I have to...trust you.” Harry’s eyes are so wide, so green, so painfully familiar. That’s the thing, isn’t it? People’s eyes never change. Everything else can, and it has, but right now he might as well be staring into the eyes of a nervous, hopeful little sixteen year old with questionable fashion sense and a baby face. The Harry he remembers that’s aged slightly with time, a little blurry around the edges. The one he fell in love with, even though he would grow up and break his heart. 

“Please,” Harry murmurs, hands rising up to cup Niall’s face, one thumb brushing over the line of his cheekbone.  _ Huh.  _ He hadn’t even realized he was crying. “Please, just one more chance, Niall.” He takes a ragged breath. “I love you.” 

Niall’s resolve crumbles and he tilts his face up, pressing closer that last bit until their lips meet, slotting together, warm and salty from their tears, sweet from that cherry-flavored chapstick Harry must still use. Niall slips his hands down his sides to rest at his waist, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to feel the inked skin underneath just because he can. 

And it’s like the universe has righted itself again. 

He’s found himself drawn back into Harry’s orbit. Harry’s here, pressed up against him, warm and solid and real and loving him with every inch of his heart. And promising to stay. 

It’s more than he thought he would ever have again, at any rate. So he stands still in the dim light of Harry’s dressing room and kisses him till he can’t quite remember the hows or whys or whens. Kisses him until the ache in his chest is gone, and even when they break apart, it stays gone. 

Yeah. He’s home. 


End file.
